


You Had Me At Ciao

by AllonsyHelen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Castiel and Jimmy Novak Are Twins, College, I set this in Italy because I could, Italy, M/M, Slow Burn, Study abroad au, there's a little bit of denny too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6912298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllonsyHelen/pseuds/AllonsyHelen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a ciao and a grazie, Castiel is hooked on Dean. Merda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. uno

**Author's Note:**

> The study-abroad-in-Italy AU nobody asked for. I was a proud four-month expat in Perugia and as part of my nostalgia tour I'm finishing and uploading this fic that I started there. I've got about 1/3 of it written so I'll be uploading on a pretty good schedule while I finish.
> 
> I want to shout out to myshoeislost on tumblr for being my real-life Dean Winchester and showing me what ~love in Perugia~ is like. Also for helping a little with this fic.

The cobblestones trip up Castiel’s feet as he walks, making his steps uncertain. Jet lag fogs his mind, thoughts tumbling in before slowing as he tries in vain to straighten them. Foreign words float through the air around him, going in one ear and out the other – but he likes the sounds of the language, the lyricism of the sentences he does not understand. 

A woman shouts harshly across the piazza – he turns his head toward her, and as he does, a man outside of a café catches his eye.

He’s tall, and even at this distance Castiel can see the gentleness in his features, but also his strength, biceps straining as he carries boxes, wearing only a black t-shirt despite the January chill. Castiel actually stops walking and stares at him until he disappears into the café, noting the name of it – the sign proudly reads  _ Fresco  _ – before continuing through the piazza, hoping he doesn’t look like an idiot, stopping and staring like that. But this guy was just...beautiful. He glances back, but the guy hasn’t come back outside, so Castiel pushes the man from his mind in favor of navigating the maze of streets that make up his new town.

‘Perugia is in the heart of Italy, an award-winning university town,’ according to all of the flyers Castiel’s school had thrust into the hands of students interested in study abroad. A senior in his second semester, it’s unusual to study abroad at this point – but Castiel has spent his time at school so far avoiding it out of fear. Now that he’s finished all of the credits he needs, rather than opting to graduate early with no real plan for what to do afterward, Gabriel and Anna had teamed up to practically push Castiel onto the airplane.

He finally finds the school building, no thanks to the map he was given in his orientation packet. He walks in and locates the meeting room, the location of the first orientation session. His heart is beating quickly, because he knows this is a Big Deal. Gabriel had texted him, saying ‘Don’t blow this bro. Talk to people!!!’ Anna had been slightly more supportive with ‘Try talking to people, Castiel, they’ll like you!’

Castiel doesn’t have very many friends in college – a small core group, people to go to parties with and smoke pot with out by the river in the woods behind campus – and the only person he knows here is a junior named Balthazar. Bal runs in a similar group to Castiel back at their home campus, and they’d had lunch together a few times after a literature class they were both in the year previous. Bal is a good conversationalist, which is fortunate, because Castiel, for all his majoring in English suggests, is absolutely not.

He sees Balthazar now, sitting next to an empty seat, thank God, so Castiel makes a beeline to him and sits down.

“Heya, Cas,” Balthazar says with an easy smile. “How was your flight?”

“Good,” Castiel says. He hasn’t taken very many flights before, so when he does get the opportunity, he typically enjoys them as an opportunity to read an entire book or watch a couple of movies on the entertainment system. “How was yours?”

“The turbulence was pretty intense,” Balthazar says with a shrug. “But other than that it was alright. I will admit to watching Dear John and crying my eyes out.”

Castiel laughs a little. “I make it a rule to not watch movies that will make me cry on planes,” he says. He’s relieved that Balthazar is here, because as much as he knows being pushed from his comfort zone will be good for him, Bal can save him from himself if he goes ‘super-introvert,’ as Michael so kindly likes to refer to the periods of time, sometimes lasting months, during which Castiel speaks to next to no one voluntarily and instead spends his time reading alone in his room. (When Anna left for college, and it was just Castiel and Chuck at home in their big house on the ocean, he went into one of those super-introvert periods, and when Thanksgiving rolled around and everyone came back home, he had straight A’s, had lost 10 pounds, and finished 40 books. Gabriel literally smacked him upside the head, handed him a bag of pot, and told him to get his shit together. Anna, on the other hand, had spent the entirety of one night sitting on his bed with him while they talked about everything under the sun. He couldn’t help but notice the sadness on her face when she realized that he had barely spoken to anyone since she’d left.)

Their attention is called to a woman standing at the front of the room; she gives an impassioned speech to the assembled group of jet-lagged students that basically boils down to “Study a lot and don’t drink too much.” Castiel is certain it goes in one ear and out the other for most of those who are actually listening; it seems that at least five or six of his fellow students have actually dozed off, and another dozen are heading in that direction fast. He himself is having trouble keeping his eyes open, and thoughts of a nice, warm bed invade any concentration he might normally have.

He does notice that Balthazar looks at him repeatedly when he thinks Castiel won’t notice, and it gives him a little thrill.

***

"No, I- I can barely hear you, Gabriel,” Castiel says, moving from the window to his bed where the wifi signal seems to be stronger.

“Now?” Gabriel’s voice is a little distorted through the phone, but that’s to be expected when it’s transmitting across an ocean.

“Better,” Castiel says. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, little bro, I’m just so happy you’re there! I really did not expect you to get on that plane, honest to God. I didn’t even think you’d make it to the car.”

“Considering you put my suitcase in the trunk a full hour before I had to leave, I had no other choice,” Castiel says, but his tone betrays the warmth that he feels – that he’s grateful to Gabriel for forcing him to come here. That even though it’s overwhelming and he barely speaks Italian, he’s glad his siblings care enough to push him from his comfortable home at school in America to come here, where anything can happen. That can be both good and bad.

“So how’s orientation going?” Gabriel asks. “Tell me every detail, spare nothing juicy. Is there a lot of chocolate there?”

“Yes, there are chocolate stores on every street,” Castiel tells him.

“That’s it, I’m visiting, booking my flight now,” Gabriel says, and Castiel hears a shuffling in the background that makes it seem like Gabriel has genuinely gotten up to go get his laptop to book the flight. It wouldn’t be a surprise – they’d discussed the possibility of Gabriel visiting him over the semester to get in some ‘brotherly bonding’ as Gabriel had put it. (Gabe had also mentioned something about European men and women.)

“Orientation is tiring,” Castiel says. He lies down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, the exposed beams that betray the age of the building his little apartment is in. “I haven’t done orientation since the beginning of college.” He remembers how awful that was - he’d worried he would never make any friends and that everyone would always hate him. Fortunately, his roommate was a nice guy and had introduced him to a couple more people, so he’d ended up stumbling backwards into a group of friends despite himself.

“Are you making friends there or being a complete recluse?” Gabe asks, and the question suggests that he pretty much already knows the answer.

“I am not a recluse, I just like to have alone time,” Castiel tells him, remembering Gabriel’s horrified reaction when he told him he was going to rent out an apartment for himself rather than getting one through the program, which he would most likely have to share with other students. “But Balthazar is here.”

“Good,” Gabriel says, “I’ll shoot him a message, tell him to drag you out places. I refuse to watch you waste your entire semester abroad.”

“Why are you so sure I’ll waste my semester?” Castiel asks, a little wounded. He doesn’t consider any of his life wasted, but Gabriel judges him by his own standards. Just because Gabriel has spent his life jumping around in tights onstage in front of audiences who stand and clap for him, while Castiel prefers to stick to the wings, it doesn’t mean that he isn’t doing anything useful.

Although he can’t exactly say what that is.

He knows Gabriel cares, though, and that’s why he adds, “But I’ll allow him to drag me out places if it means that much to you.”

“That’s the spirit, little brother,” Gabriel says. “Dad wants to Skype you tomorrow, FYI. So be prepared for that.”

Their father is a little on the crazy side, often going days without bathing or changing out of his pajamas and bathrobe, and forgetting to shave for weeks at a time if he’s really into whatever he’s writing at the moment. And it pays off in semi-successful book sales and occasional signing tours across the United States, which pay the bills.

“I’ve sent him a few photos,” Castiel says. “He said he was worried and couldn’t sleep the whole time I was on the plane. He wrote three chapters though, so that was good.” Granted, he had also said that two of them were absolute garbage.

“Fascinating,” Gabriel says sarcastically, “but tell me. Anyone cute in your program?”

“I’m not really here to find someone,” Castiel says. “The only person I’ve spoken to is Balthazar.”

“Well…you’ve still got time, Cassie,” Gabriel tells him perkily. “Just seize the day! Make your life extraordinary!”

“Working on it,” Castiel says, trying and failing to suppress a yawn.

“You are a supremely terrible conversationalist when jet lagged,” Gabriel informs him, and Castiel is about to apologize when Gabe says, “Go to sleep. Take a nap. Then go get smashed! It’s your first night!”

Castiel doubts that the second part will happen, but the first part is definitely welcome. “Okay, I will,” he says. “And I’ll talk to you later.”

“Oh, and Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“Try to hold the existential crises at bay,” Gabe says. “I don’t want you freaking out like you did all last semester. Your life will sort itself out without your anxiety spilling itself all over the place.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to have an existential crisis,” Cas says. “And I’m trying not to.” So far his only crises have been about his inability to speak Italian, and the fact that he doesn’t know where anything is.

“Good. Because you’ll do something with that degree of yours, okay?” Castiel can hear the encouraging smile behind his words.

“Okay,” he echoes. “Bye, Gabriel.”

“Bye-bye, Cassie.”

***

Balthazar knows Cas from college and so he’s familiar with the way he curls in on himself like a cat, and how not to take it personally. Cas is lying on his bed reading a book, when he hears a buzz throughout the apartment. It’s very tiny, just a bedroom and a kitchen, and he traverses it and reaches the door in less than ten seconds. The landlord had demonstrated how to call down to whoever’s ringing his flat, all the while speaking at him in a flurry of foreign words that may as well have been birdsong for how meaningless, yet pleasant, they sounded to Castiel.

He presses the call button now. “Um, yes?”

“Castiel! It’s Balthazar. Head on down, we’re going out!”

Cas hesitates and considers pretending the connection’s broken off, but he thinks of Gabe, and his text, and then Anna, and even his father, who had told Castiel simply to ‘live it,’ something he’d likely seen on a therapist’s office motivational poster one of the many times he’d tried laying on a couch and talking everything through in the hopes it might make him a better father - or even just a better human.

“Coming, one minute,” Cas says now, and he finds himself twenty minutes later inside a small, crowded pub called Dempsey’s, nursing a beer, while Balthazar and a girl whose name he was told and forgot talk about politics, of all things.

He’s leaning against a table, and the girl is saying that she thinks the reason the Bush administration ordered (as one would ‘order’ a pizza? Cas thinks with a snort but does not say) 9/11 is because of oil.

Balthazar fires back several rather compelling conspiracy theories about Sarah Palin, Joe Biden, and of course the conversation would be incomplete without mention of the moon landing. Castiel follows this but there’s no need nor does he have the desire to jump in, so he doesn’t. He just sips his beer and watches as people slowly file into the pub. Balthazar doesn’t drag him into the conversation, bless him, understanding that Castiel will participate if and when he wants to.

People keep coming in from the cold, shucking their jackets and ordering their beverages of choice. It’s a Saturday night, and Castiel feels now more than usual like he’s not really here in the pub with everyone. Like he could fade away and if he did it slowly enough, no one would notice.

The last time he felt this distinct feeling was at Thanksgiving. Everyone had managed to be there, taking planes, trains, and buses to their big white house in Maine. Michael and Luke had both flown up to Bangor from Boston, bickering even as they walked through the door, and not stopping for two days until they flew back. Of course they’d ended up in the same city - some people were surprised they didn’t choose opposite ends of the country so they’d have as many miles as possible spread between them. But Castiel doesn’t find it surprising at all. It makes sense. They’re twins. Castiel can understand the invisible and inexplicable pull to a twin - someone who feels like they are the other half of you. It makes him melancholy to think of, and he’s never been close with them because of it - they know it, too, and are surely just grateful that Castiel keeps his distance.

Gabriel and Cas took the same train from New York, though Castiel had to take a bus into the city from his school in the suburbs. They didn’t speak much during the trip – Gabriel was studying lines for a play that opened three weeks before Christmas. He described the plot to Cas – a modern show, very Brooklyn, about the angel Gabriel falling in love with one of the wise men.

Gabriel would play, fittingly, the angel, and while he found the premise of the show a little laughable, Castiel thought it sounded romantic in a way.

Anna flew from Chicago and got there last, blowing through the door with red cheeks and a frozen turkey she’d picked up on the way from the airport. She’d wasted no time in showing Castiel photos of her new exhibit, and he lamented as always that he couldn’t come see it. She was a talented but mostly starving artist, and Castiel caught Chuck slipping her several crisp bills later that night.

They’d all gathered in the living room to watch the only Thanksgiving movie they could think of,  _ Planes, Trains, and Automobiles _ , which Gabe described as an “absolutely glorious string of fucks all gathered into one big clusterfuck of a movie.”

Afterwards everyone retreated to their old rooms, which had been unchanged from when they’d last lived there. For Castiel that had only been a few months before, in August, but for Michael and Luke, they were forced to spend the night in their shared room, in the single beds that had been their burden and the center of their complaints throughout high school.

Anna came to see if Castiel was still awake around one, and since he was, they both laid across his bed as she asked him questions and he answered patiently, asking some of his own, remembering the hours they’d spent in here during their childhood. He told her how he had no idea what he was doing, with his life and in general, and she told him she felt the same. But he knew she didn’t really.

Anna had always understood him best, probably because they were only a year apart in age, while Gabriel was two and a half years older than Castiel, and Michael and Luke were five years older.

The next day there was snow so they hauled out the snowmobiles and ice skates and the whole day felt like old times until the evening when everyone but Castiel seemed to have plans with old friends from school. Some of Castiel’s high school friends had texted to ask if he was going to be around over the break and could maybe hang out, but he’d replied that he was doing things with his family.

Cas and Chuck had heated up leftovers and eaten in relative silence, and a dark grey loneliness had settled over Castiel’s hunched shoulders. It hadn’t dissipated until several days later.

Now, in the pub, he considers this loneliness as he watches people walk in. Really, it’s his own fault - he could be fully participating in this conversation about politics and conspiracy theories with Balthazar and the girl… But he doesn’t feel like it. Bal, maybe, sure, but a stranger?

He’s tired of meeting people and he’s only 22. How can that be?

The night does start to look up when he sees the attractive man from before come in wearing a light brown leather jacket and a smile befitting of an angel. (Castiel shakes his head when this thought runs through his mind - he’s clearly been reading too many of his father’s books.)

Anyway, the beautiful guy comes in and Castiel watches him. The relatively low light of the pub makes his face look even better, and Cas is closer now; he can see that there’s a five o’clock shadow ghosting his chin. He goes over to a small cluster of people across the room and hugs a blonde girl tight. She says something and he laughs, a full-body laugh, and Cas’s breath catches in his throat.

This guy, he thinks, he wouldn’t mind meeting.

***

After a night of wakeful rest, a day of orientation activities is the very last thing Castiel wants to do. But he has no choice - so he puts his head down and trundles through the introductions, the safety reminders, the presentations on Italian food, culture, wine…

The only interesting thing that happens all day occurs at lunch. Balthazar suggests that they get paninis and coffee and steers them in the direction of the cafe he saw the attractive man going into the day before. Castiel doesn’t exactly offer up alternative options, and as they walk toward it he feels his palms start to sweat in the pockets of his jacket.

Castiel feels like the clouds part when they walk in and the guy is at the counter, wearing the same black t-shirt from the day before but now with an army green button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His name tag reads Dean, and he glances up from where he’s wiping down the counter with a white cloth.

“Ciao!” Balthazar greets.

Dean returns the greeting but he’s mostly looking at Castiel, which makes his heart flutter. After a beat, Castiel says, “Ciao,” and then feels like an idiot for it, but it makes Dean smile.

“Ciao,” he says again, more softly, or maybe Castiel is just imagining it.

Balthazar orders by pointing, and Cas does the same, saying only, “Questo, per favore,” very uncertainly. He doesn’t want Dean to think he’s stupid.

Dean just nods and smiles at him - Cas actually feels weak at the knees - and busies himself heating up their sandwiches and making their coffee. Castiel looks around the little cafe - it’s very bright, with white walls that all have signs of smiling people or green fields and vegetables. There’s a list of smoothies and coffees on the wall, so Castiel reads it, trying to translate the words into English - but he has no idea.

To his left, there are steps that lead up into a backroom, which presumably contains a sitting area. Castiel wonders if he’ll ever be brave enough to come in here alone, maybe with a book. Maybe with an Italian dictionary so he can piece together a conversation to have with Dean.

Dean hands them their orders with a “Grazie” and a smile, and Castiel probably just imagines this too, but it seems like he’s looking at him more than he looks at Balthazar.


	2. due

Castiel makes the tactical error of telling Gabriel about the attractive cafe man, Dean. But really he doesn’t have anything else to respond to his incessant texts with. Gabriel is nothing if not persistent, so when he doesn’t receive enough details after asking “How was day 2?” (to which Castiel had responded “Good, how was your day?”) he proceeds to barrage Castiel’s phone with more messages.

**Gabriel, 21:19:** okay but good in what way?

**Gabriel, 21:20:** details PLEASE bother

**Gabriel, 21:20:** *brother fuck but you are being a bother too

**Gabriel, 21:20:** so, accurate

**Gabriel, 21:22:** seriously please give me details

**Gabriel, 21:23:** your life is like my own personal favorite soap opera except it’s very boring sometimes

**Gabriel, 21:25:** THIS IS NOT ONE OF THOSE BORING TIMES PLEASE SEND ME DETAILS OR PICTURES OR SOMETHING

So Castiel breaks down and responds with

**Castiel, 21:27:** At lunch, Balthazar and I went to a cafe and there was a very attractive man there. His name is Dean.

Naturally this sets Gabriel off for a good five minutes.

**Gabriel, 21:27:** DEAN?

**Gabriel, 21:28:** hot name

**Gabriel, 21:28:** did you leave your number?

**Gabriel, 21:29:** did you talk to him?

**Gabriel, 21:30:** Castiel, pLEASE tell me you talked to him.

**Gabriel, 21:31:** who am I kidding you’re cassie you probably ran away as fast as you could

**Castiel, 21:32:** I did not run away, I waited for my sandwich and coffee and then I left.

**Gabriel, 21:32:** but did you talk to him?

**Castiel, 21:34:** Do you forget that I’m in Italy and I don’t actually speak Italian?

**Gabriel, 21:35:** okay I’m looking up “how to flirt in italian” and sending you kinks

**Gabriel, 21:35:** LINKS lmfao

**Castiel, 21:35:** Kinks lol please send links only.

**Gabriel, 21:36:** you could probably use a few kinks while I’m at it

**Castiel, 21:36:** -.-

Gabriel does send him links, then, and Castiel looks at them but doesn’t really commit the phrases to memory. He’s not one for flirting - in fact the only relationship he’s ever been in, he stumbled into backwards as if by accident - and naturally Gabriel brings this up.

**Gabriel, 21:59:** one of your resolutions for this semester should be to not talk to your ex

**Castiel, 22:05:** What?? That’s random.

**Gabriel, 22:06:** i’m just thinking

**Castiel, 22:09:** Do you think about Meg and I often?

**Gabriel, 22:11:** meg and me* shortstack

**Gabriel, 22:12:** and yes of course i fuckin do

Gabriel had been more distressed than anyone when Castiel told him, randomly and out of the blue one day during his junior year of college, that he had broken up with his girlfriend of a year, seven months, and three days.

 

_ “I’m sorry, Meg, I know that this is sudden…” Castiel looked down at her with blue eyes filled with sadness, one that Meg had fooled herself into believing that she understood. She’d fooled herself, clearly, into thinking she could fix him, even though she knew that there was no fixing anyone, and the one who needed fixing was her anyway. _

_ That much was made clear by Castiel deciding to break up with her. _

_ “Sudden doesn’t even begin to cover it, Clarence,” she said, bite in her tone, pulling out the old nickname - gained when she continuously forgot his name when they were first introduced two years before, in their first semester, and decided to call him Clarence for ease and so she didn’t have to say an angel’s name. He had asked her why she cared and she told him she was a born sinner and was looking forward to hell, and he’d better not ruin it for her by making her pray unnecessarily to the angel of Thursdays. He’d smiled softly when he put two and two together and realized she’d looked up the meaning of his name, but he didn’t point it out, not ever. _

_ “I can’t explain it, and I apologize deeply for that,” Castiel continued. She could see he was already distancing himself, and he was much further away than he’d ever been before. _

_ “You’re fucking special to me, Cas,” she said, hands balling into fists. “I told you  _ everything _! I told you about my fucked up daddy issues. I told you about the asshole who raped me. I told you about all my nightmares, I told you...everything!” And she’d had to find out the reason he was how he was and probably the stupid reason he was doing this stupid thing now to her, from Anna. “When did you even tell me something, Cas?” She jabbed her finger into his chest. _

_ Castiel’s eyes were full of sadness, pity, and even love. Stupid fucking love. Meg punched the expression off his face, and Castiel just shook his head out, stretched his neck, gave her a sad smile, and walked away. _

_ She screamed after him that she was keeping his sweatshirt and vinyls, and he raised a hand as if to say that was alright, without even looking back. _

 

Well, maybe Meg was more distressed than anyone.

Castiel decides not to grace Gabriel with a response. He talks to Meg occasionally, yes, and it’s always turbulent and dramatic with Meg not-so-subtly trying to dig into just  _ why _ he broke up with her. He always just tells her it wasn’t her or anything about her, and that the problem was and is him. She always tells him that she doesn’t give a rat’s ass anymore and she’s been having way more fun since they broke up, but he knows it isn’t true. A few months after the breakup they saw each other at a party. Cas was high and Meg grabbed a joint and decided to join him.

He’d admitted to her that he still had feelings for her, because it was true, and weed always loosens his tongue. She’d taken that admission and run with it, and they fucked but it wasn’t the same. She could tell that it wasn’t. Castiel left before 2 in the morning, and the next time they talked he ensured that they were both completely sober.

Of course, when Cas told Gabriel about that incident, he’d taken it and run with it. He demanded to know just why Cas would break up with someone he had feelings for, and Cas admitted that it was because he was scared. Gabriel demanded to know why he was scared, and Cas told him that he felt it was obvious. Gabriel responded that nothing about Cas was obvious, and that was that.

**Gabriel, 22:37:** just don’t go getting scared of this guy, kid. you have to go for shit sometimes. his name is dean, how bad can he be?! just learn some italian and go try it out! pretty sure you haven’t been with anybody since meg and your dick will fall off if you don’t use it

**Castiel, 22:48:** Thank you for that sound advice, Gabe. I will speak to him when I go into the cafe next, but I know nothing about him.

**Gabriel, 22:49:** you know nothing about ANYBODY until you get to know them!!!

Gabriel has a point, so Castiel turns his phone off, slides under the covers, and thinks about nothing until he falls off to sleep.

***

The next time Castiel walks into the cafe is only two days later. He’s feeling more refreshed and has just taken a shower, so his hair is wet and matted down on his head. It’s evening and all the orientation activities are over; there’s an outstanding invitation from Bal to meeting him at Dempsey’s later, and he’s thinking about it, but it’s dinner time and he’s hungry. He remembers there being some sandwiches at Dean’s cafe, and well… the thought that really propels him out the door is that Dean might not actually be there. Maybe he has a life! Maybe the cafe will be closed. Maybe Castiel won’t make a complete fool out of himself trying to speak Italian to him. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

When he sees Dean behind the counter with his back turned, wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans, he very nearly turns away. But he’s pushed forward by the thought of Gabriel in his mind, and the fact that he will almost certainly fly to Italy to tell Castiel that he’s fucking this up if he doesn’t report back with details of an actual conversation.

He pushes open the doors and walks in. Dean turns around and his face brightens into a smile that nearly sends Castiel back through the doors just to gulp some fresh air into his lungs. Because, Jesus. Dean is attractive. He is quite possibly the most beautiful man Castiel has ever encountered. Castiel doesn’t leave, though, he steps bravely up to the counter and looks him right in the eye. (Dean’s eyes are so green, and there’s a dusting of freckles stretched across his cheeks and nose, and laugh lines around his eyes, oh man.)

“Uh, ciao,” Cas says, remembering that here,  _ you _ have to greet  _ them _ before they say anything to you.

“Buongiorno,” Dean says, and his voice is blissfully low.

“Uh…” Cas clears his throat and looks down at the sandwiches displayed in the glass counter. “Voglio...questo,” he says, pointing at one at random, though he can’t tell what’s in it.

Dean’s smiling to himself like he has an inside joke or something, and he just nods and leans down to open the case and take out the sandwich. He takes it over to the stovetop to heat it up and Cas watches him go. He has great shoulders, and that’s not really something Cas has  _ ever _ thought about someone before. He’s not really one for the whole knee-buckling attraction thing, preferring to go weak over someone’s love for ancient languages or extensive knowledge of Middle Earth. But here Dean is. And Castiel’s heart is pounding.

When Dean brings him the sandwich, he tells him the price quickly in Italian, and Castiel doesn’t quite catch it so he just puts a 5 euro note on the counter. Dean takes it and gives him a private little smile which Castiel returns. Dean makes his change and holds out a one-euro coin and two 20-cent coins. Cas holds out his hand but instead of dropping the coins into it, Dean presses them gently into Cas’s palm and deliberately folds Cas’s fingers closed so he’s holding the coins in a fist. His hand is warm and his fingers are strong; the coins are cold and smooth inside Castiel’s closed fist. His heart is stuttering and he can’t stop looking at Dean, who made eye contact throughout the entire thing.

“Um. Thank - uh… Um, grazie,” Castiel says, barely able to form a coherent thought, let alone one in Italian. Then, as Dean turns away, he pushes out, “Piacere!”  _ Nice to meet you _ .

Dean glances over his shoulder. “Piacere,” he returns, and winks.

Castiel stands stock still for a good ten seconds before he even notices that he’s still standing there. He quickly pockets the coins, grabs his sandwich, and runs out of the little cafe. Overall he could have played that way, way smoother, but something about Dean makes it a little bit difficult. Scratch that - a  _ lot _ difficult.

***

By the time Cas is on his third beer, things are getting a little fuzzy. He’s not a lightweight, not at all, but he’s not a hard drinker either, and the most smashed he’s gotten was a Halloween party sophomore year when he apparently did body shots off of Meg in front of everyone. He has no memory of this and he’s inclined to believe it didn’t really happen and everyone’s just joined together to pull his leg. Since that night, though, and the following morning when he’d puked his guts out, he’s made it a rule to  _ not _ get blackout drunk.

He starts slowing down when he feels the effects of the alcohol, but it’s just him and Balthazar tonight, standing in a corner with their drinks at Dempsey’s, and he’s feeling  _ really _ good thanks to the interaction with Dean earlier. So it’s difficult to slow down when all he wants to do is celebrate.

Castiel grins over at Balthazar, the alcohol loosening him. Balthazar, who has had a few drinks himself, grins back, shoulders pressed against the wall, hips jutted out. His t-shirt is riding up and Cas can see his black studded belt holding up his skinny jeans which are tight enough that Castiel doubts he needs to wear it.

He tells him as much and Balthazar lets out a nice, full laugh. “You think not?” he asks, rolling his shoulders forward, pushing up off the wall. His accent comes out in full when he’s drinking, Castiel has noticed; it’s normally dulled, subverted by his years in the States. Now Castiel knows how it feels to be foreign too, and he thinks of saying this - but Balthazar is speaking again. “How do you feel about my ass, Castiel?” He draws out the ‘as’ in Castiel’s name, making him giggle a little like he wouldn’t if it weren’t for the beer.

“How do I feel about it?” he asks, and a thought, an old high school teacher adage, pops into his mind -  _ please repeat the question in the response _ \- and it makes him laugh even more.

“Yes, yes, how do you feel about my ass?” Balthazar twists so Cas can see his ass fully, and Cas bites his lip, staring down at it.

He hmm’s noncommittally, unsure what to say, since Balthazar does have a nice ass but it’s not the best Cas has seen. In fact, it just makes him wonder about Dean’s ass. 

Balthazar puts a hand over his heart. “Oh, you weaken me, Castiel! D’you know that? You positively weaken me!”

Castiel gives him an apologetic shrug before draining the rest of his beer, and Balthazar says, “Perhaps you’ll change your mind someday if I allow you to feel it.” Then he reaches around and pinches Castiel’s ass, causing him to gasp in surprise.

“Go get me another drink to pay for that!” he commands, pointing to the bar.

Bal laughs easily, understanding that Cas isn’t really upset. “Pricey,” he says with a tsk and a wink, and then saunters off.


	3. tre

Cas can hardly believe he’s actually researching “how to flirt in Italian,” but well, we all have weak points, and this is clearly his. He would blame it on a lack of sleep but he knows that’s not what it really is. He might also blame it on procrastination, resistance to work on his homework, but that isn’t it either, because he doesn’t have any. It’s only the second day of classes.

Rain slides down his window, streaking the gray light that’s being cast through it onto his white bedspread. He’s sitting cross-legged in his jeans and mismatched socks (grey and black), his laptop before him on the bed. His face is screwed up in concentration as he reads and tries to memorize the phrases, wondering if he’ll ever be able to gather the courage to _actually_ say these to someone. To Dean.

The first article Gabe sent him is titled “How to Flirt and Compliment in Italian.” It features a photo of a pretty girl sitting by a bunch of mostly dead roses in a vase, smiling down at her spaghetti. Her boobs are clearly visible, as is the lip of a bottle of wine in the foreground.

According to this article, in order to find a “racy fling” in Italy, Castiel needs five simple phrases for “chasing a boy or a girl, a gentleman or a lady, a spring chicken or mature vintage.” Castiel’s eyebrows narrow at this. It seems like a website Gabriel would have written as a joke. He thinks of all the links Gabriel has sent him over the years which he’s opened in the middle of class or packed restaurants or at the dinner table with Chuck. Labeled with “really funny video!” or “look at these cats Cassie!” they were often porn, usually excerpts from Casa Erotica. Gabriel loves nothing more than making Castiel feel as awkward as possible.

According to this website, the five important phrases are “you’re so funny,” “you have been very kind,” “your English is excellent,” “you’re charming/enchanting,” and “you’re so sweet.” Cas isn’t sure if Dean is funny, kind, charming, or sweet, and he can only _hope_ that Dean’s English is excellent. At any rate, these don’t seem like things Castiel would ever say in any language.

The next site informs him that “Italian men are known for their wooing techniques, and American women are frequently warned of the ploys of the flirtatious Italian ragazzi.” It has of course occurred to him that Dean could be completely uninterested in men. And for his own protection he’s convinced himself that this is most likely the case. But the way he looked and smiled at Castiel… And plus, he’s so _pretty_. Cas knows that’s wrong to think but…it’s true.

One of his friends from school, Uriel, always says that it’s important to remember that gay people often do live up to their stereotypes, and that gaydar is really just judging people based on lists of stereotypical traits. Kind of a harsh thing to say, but Castiel isn’t convinced he’s wrong.

This site is even worse: “Where have you been all my life?” “You make me melt like ice cream in the sun.” “Which one’s your vespa parked outside?”

Jesus.

Castiel combs through several more completely unhelpful sites that make him believe less and less in humanity’s combined pride and intelligence. In the end, he just google translates “My name is Castiel,” “How are you?” “Where are you from?” “I’m from Maine” and “You are very attractive,” even though he’s sure he won’t use the last one.

He writes these phrases down on index cards and repeats them to himself in the bathroom mirror several times before and after taking a shower. He puts on a Pearl Jam t-shirt, jeans, and his jacket, looks at himself in the mirror for several more moments, and then forces himself out the door before he second guesses himself too many times.

It’s evening, and the town sits beneath a deep blue, spitting sky, and despite the cold air that has settled itself into every street, people are out and about. They’re huddled under umbrellas, some moving fast and others meandering. The grey stone slabs that make up the streets are darker from the rain, and they glow from the light of the stores and the sky. The people seem to have purpose, belonging, like other people did in Maine or on campus at school. But as Castiel joins them, he finds himself smiling – even though he is alone, he is going somewhere. He often feels, in these situations, like he is outside of everyone else. But now he has a purpose. He knows where he’s going, he knows some Italian, and he will speak it when he gets there. He’s going to see someone, someone who _does_ belong here. Even if that someone doesn’t know who he is and might not care.

It only makes it so much better that that someone is one of the most attractive people Castiel has ever seen in his life.

He opens the door to the cafe slowly, uncertainly, because Dean – and thank God, Dean is working right now – has his back turned and a phone held up to his ear. Castiel nearly turns and leaves, but then he hears, clear as day, “I’m just at work bored. Figured this might be a good time for you to chat.”

Cas’s jaw nearly drops. That is not an Italian accent. Those are very clear, English words in a very American accent.

It’s nearly filthy, is what it is, deep and so, so American. The familiarity washes over him immediately, and he feels relaxed, but then the Italian phrases he’s memorized with trepidation float into his mind and he realizes: Dean isn’t Italian. He’s American.

“Yeah I work at a café,” Dean continues, holding up a finger to Cas without turning around to see him, “when I’m not out with the salt and iron.”

There’s a pause. “Not as much lately. It’s been pretty quiet.” He glances back over his shoulder, sees Castiel standing there staring like an idiot in the doorway, and says quickly, “Uh, you’re right maybe there’s a better time to talk. Text me when you’re out of class or something? …Bye, Sammy.”

Castiel is still standing there, still staring, still shocked and feeling stupider than he’s ever felt in his life, probably. Because Dean is clearly not Italian. And how could Castiel think he was?

Oh right, because Dean has barely said anything to him. And he _knows_ Castiel is American, it’s obvious. Has he just been laughing at him? Does he have no real desire to speak to him?

These thoughts are preventing Castiel from actually stepping forward or saying anything, so Dean leans with his forearms on the counter and peers up at Castiel through his eyelashes (they’re so _long_ ). “Cat’s outta the bag I guess,” he says.

Castiel tilts his head. “Were you…” he says slowly, “actively attempting to hide your nationality from me?”

Dean laughs a little, softly. “That’s a little blunt but I guess so. I just thought it was amusing, when you tried to speak Italian. Would have spoken to you just to make sure you came back, but well, we have damn good drinks and food here, so I figured you’d come back and I’d have all the time in the world to uh, come out to ya as American.”

Castiel is frowning. “You were laughing at me,” he says. This is not fair. Super attractive Dean is an asshole. Not. Fair.

“No, no, no!” Dean stands up quickly, raising his hands in defensive.

“Whatever.” Castiel’s mouth is hardened into a line. “I have to go.” He feels so stupid for memorizing Italian to speak to Dean. And for all the stupid things he’s said that probably sounded so unbelievably American and incompetent to Dean, who’s probably fluent in Italian. Dean just wanted to laugh at him for trying. Castiel has spent enough of his life being presumed stupid because he’s quiet and shy, he’s not going to just stand here and take it from Dean, no matter how attractive he may be, or how low his voice is.

“Wait, hey, hey, I didn’t-” Dean protests to Castiel’s back, but Cas shuts out the rest of his words by closing the door firmly behind him.

***

_The first time Castiel ever smoked pot, there were so many stars. Waves lapped up the rocks on the beach that wasn’t far from their big white house. He just had to walk down the road, dodging headlights, and duck beneath the fence that closed off the road out to the point. He never used a flashlight, not when it was just him and the light of the moon that illuminated the path through the woods that would lead him to the rocky beach and the water. Times like this, just him and the moon, animals prowled through the woods beside him, and as long as he stuck to the path, their presence didn’t unnerve him._

_It unnerved Gabriel, though, and that much was clear from the bouncing of his flashlight beam as he walked. It was summer, only a few weeks before Castiel’s senior year of high school began, and the last night of Gabriel’s summer vacation before he had to return to school._

_Castiel was about to be alone, and Gabriel knew this, so he had come to knock loudly on Castiel’s bedroom door shortly after midnight. When Cas opened the door, holding a book with his thumb marking the yellowed pages, eyes bleary as if he’d been asleep instead of curled up in his chair reading, Gabe held up a plastic baggy containing pot._

_“Let’s go, Cassie,” he said, boisterous, proud._

_Castiel had looked at the bag for a long moment, thoughts rushing through his mind, the voices of his fifth grade teachers making him sign a pledge to live a drug and alcohol free life, the voice of his father after he had come inside from smoking on the porch – thick with cigarettes, a cloud around him that wasn’t only made of the smoke. The voices of Michael, Luke, Gabriel, and Anna, all telling him, as if in unison, to “lighten up, chill out, get a grip.” Luke’s was loudest, though, and aggressive, as it echoed his harsh words: “figure out who the fuck you are, Castiel, and just be that person, or stop being anything at all.”_

_These words have floated in Castiel’s mind for a long time, and his mind isn’t a river, it’s a still pond, small but dark and deep with caverns unexplored crouching unseen in the blackness of the thick water. The words that have hurt the most have floated the longest, before settling themselves into cracks to sit there, become dislodged when the water sloshes for whatever reason – happiness, sadness, loneliness, or nothing, nothing at all._

_Castiel went with Gabriel if only because so far, nothing had succeeded in helping him “figure out who the fuck he was,” and how to be that person. And if the weed didn’t do either of those things, maybe it would help him figure out how to be nothing at all._

_“It’s fucking creepy out here,” Gabriel had said, swinging his flashlight to face Castiel, and Cas had blinked rapidly and held up a hand to block out the blinding light._

_“Please, don’t shine that in my face,” he said with a little groan, at which Gabe had laughed and swung the flashlight back to the dirt path that lay before them._

_“This seems like a very you place to come hang out,” Gabriel commented. “Me, I got to second base on those rocks out there. You probably just come and write poetry.”_

_Castiel did not write poetry, so he said, “I never write poetry, Gabriel.”_

_Gabriel had bumped his shoulder into Castiel’s upper arm, the height difference already amusing, and only likely to increase as Castiel’s growth spurt continued to send him up. Michael and Luke used to tease Gabriel mercilessly for his lack of height, but Castiel had never joined in, despite being Gabriel’s height or taller for as long as he could remember._

_Gabriel was telling Castiel how he needed to lighten up, seriously, as they found places to sit amidst the rocks that jutted out onto the beach. Cas settled himself into his usual spot, a naturally-made seat that he’d read the entirety of a collection of Allen Ginsburg poems in one Sunday in tenth grade. Gabriel sat just above him, and Cas knew he just wanted to be as tall as he could for as long as he could. “Look,” Gabriel said, rolling a joint, “I know everybody’s been giving you a hard time this summer and it’s not been doing squat because you’re still as introverted as ever. And that’s fine! I get it. I have INFJ friends and I think they’re great people.” He licked the paper and pressed it closed around the weed, then handed it down to Cas, who took it and stared at it for a moment. The lighter landed in his lap, and he picked that up, gripping the joint in between his lips, letting it dangle while he struggled with the lighter._

_“I am not an INFJ,” he offered, and the joint fell from his lips. He rolled his eyes and plucked it up again, placed it back between his lips, and continued trying to get the lighter to work._

_“Well you’re clearly not an ESTJ,” Gabriel said with a laugh. “If you were then just bite my ass and call me a Gemini. Here.” He reached down and grabbed the lighter from Cas’s hands impatiently. He lit it and leaned down to use it to light the end of Cas’s joint._

_Castiel had seen Chuck go through enough boxes of cigarettes that he understood this part. It didn’t mean that he didn’t still come up coughing on the end of his first inhale, and Gabe laughed and patted him on the back._

_“You’ll get the hang of it, sport,” he said, “and if you don’t then maybe it’s all for the best anyway.”_

_It occurred to Cas, as he took his second drag and coughed some more, that he’d never really agreed to do this. He hadn’t said yes to drugs and alcohol, he’d just kind of followed Gabe outside and now here he was._

_Half an hour later, he was starting to truly feel it. So was Gabriel; it was clear in the way he was going on, and on and on, about how bullshit sexual orientation was, and how much labels sucked, and how he really, really never wanted to label himself or anyone else, and why is there gender anyway?_

_Cas was staring up at the stars, the cut of brightness that was the Milky Way, splitting the sky into two halves like a lightning strike. Stars pooled around it, floating off from the main path, and Cas felt like this was very, very significant._

_“Do you see that?” he asked, interrupting Gabriel and pointing up._

_“What, the stars?” Gabe deadpanned, then gave a harsh laugh and tossed the end of his joint over the edge of the outcropping._

_Cas didn’t look down to watch it fall, or to see the little orange glow slowly fade out amongst the black rocks, like one tiny fallen star._

_“Yes, the stars,” Cas said seriously, still pointing up. “They’re very beautiful. They make me think that I don’t matter at all, and that’s good. I’m tired of thinking that I should matter.”_

_Something hit his shoulder then, and it made him jump a little, but it was just Gabe’s knee. “Quit that,” he said, and his tone was more serious than it usually was. “Quit it. I’m not going to sit around while my little brother mopes his way through life. I know Luke was harsh when he told you to figure out who the fuck you are and do something about it, but he was right.”_

_“I know who I am,” Castiel protested. He was still staring up at the stars. “I know who I am,” he repeated, and one of the stars winked, twisted, and seemed almost to fade from view, the more he stared at it. His eyes wandered to the right, and then down the lightning strike Milky Way, the cluster of stars, all together, and he closed his eyes when his gaze hit the solid black shape of land. He tilted his head all the way back. “The sky. It’s split in half,” he said. “If one half disappears, there will only be half the stars.”_

_He moved his shoulder back, just a little, and it touched Gabriel’s knee. Gabriel was silent, understanding that this was something Castiel would only say now, with the stars far enough away and the gentle constant of the lapping water, and the shifting of the breeze in the black trees behind them._

_“Only half the stars won’t fill the sky,” Castiel said, after a few long breaths of cool sea air._

_“Yes they will, they just need to spread out,” Gabriel responded. When Castiel didn’t say anything, he said, “Castiel Novak, you have a basic lack of understanding of human life, and I intend to addle your brain with weed until I feel like you understand more. Capiche?”_

_Castiel didn’t respond, just leaned his head against the cold, rough stone, and stared up at the sky, watching an individual star until it burned out, and then moving to the next, and the next, wondering if he stared for long enough, if the whole sky would go black like a velvet curtain had been drawn over it._

***

Balthazar sighs deeply from where he’s standing at the window, leaning out, blowing smoke out into the cold night air. Castiel has been keeping all of the windows and shutters closed tight against the January air, but now he doesn’t care. He’s already finished his joint and is lying on his bed, staring up at the off-white ceiling, trying to think of a better name for the color. Grey is too boring, and it’s only the shadows that make it seem darker. White isn’t right, because it isn’t. Egg, cream, bone, they all make him want to laugh.

Balthazar sighs again, clearly wanting Castiel to pay attention to him, so Cas props himself up on his elbows and looks over. “What?” he asks eloquently.

“Nothing, nothing,” Balthazar says, setting the end of his joint on the windowsill and turning around to come join Castiel on the bed. “Don’t worry about it, pet.”

Castiel quirks an eyebrow at the nickname that seems to have rolled unbidden off Balthazar’s tongue, but Balthazar doesn’t say anything to take it back.

What could another word for white be? The froth of the ocean as it scurries onto the beach, swirls, and then rushes back out, a quick foray onto land and an even quicker escape?

“You look ravishing,” Balthazar tells him, lying down next to him, but on his side so he’s facing Castiel. His fingers start to run up and down Castiel’s side, and Cas doesn’t do anything to stop him, because he doesn’t care. In fact he’s sure that he only registers it a few moments after Balthazar starts to do it.

He doesn’t think to respond, and Balthazar doesn’t think to be insulted by this.

The white of the clouds he stared at with Meg while she complained and told him to _quit being such a sap, Clarence, and let me blow you in peace before the cops come. I wouldn’t look good in orange and you’d look even worse._

“Seriously, with your hair…” Balthazar reaches up and gets his fingers tangled in it, and Castiel’s eyes flutter closed at the light pull it makes on his scalp.

A moan, very soft, presses against his closed lips, and it encourages Balthazar.

“And Castiel, those lips were made for sin,” Balthazar tells him, and his fingertips, rough like men’s fingers always seem to be, move across Castiel’s lips, a ghost of a touch that leaves Cas wondering if he only imagined it.

Castiel still doesn’t respond, because he doesn’t need to. Balthazar is not asking him questions.

Balthazar’s fingers move to Castiel’s neck, and Castiel thinks, _The white of_ his _eyes, surrounding the green pool which moves in a circle around his beautiful black pupils._ The poetry of his own thoughts make him smile, and the smile encourages–

Castiel’s eyes flutter open when he feels lips on his own, and he’s surprised for a moment, but soon melts into it. Kissing is just like riding a bike, although he remembers scrapes to the knees and pebbles pressing scars into his palms.

***

The next day, Balthazar forces him to go back to Fresco, even though Castiel vehemently refuses on the grounds that Dean is an asshole. He still feels supremely stupid for thinking Dean was Italian, and for being so dumb trying to talk to him. He doesn’t want to ever go to the stupid little café again, but Balthazar tells him he’s overreacting and anyway Dean probably won’t be working, since it’s a Saturday.

This line of reasoning is faulty, especially considering Dean actually _is_ working. Castiel nearly turns tail and runs off when they see him through the glass door, but Dean spots him and smiles, which is encouraging and infuriating at once. He’s probably smiling because he’s thinking about how stupid Castiel sounds when he’s trying to speak Italian.

Balthazar gently pushes Castiel forward with a hand on the small of his back, and Cas wonders if it’s going to be obvious to Dean that he and Balthazar woke up half-naked in the same bed this morning. They didn’t have sex, but they nearly did. And Castiel is sure that it’s only a matter of time before they really do. He doesn’t care, because Balthazar _is_ attractive and interesting, and a good friend, but… Well. Dean’s eyes are so green and he has freckles, which wasn’t a weakness Castiel was aware he even had.

He reminds himself that Dean is an asshole though, as he steps up to the glass counter and orders a coffee, boldly, in English.

Dean doesn’t turn to make it immediately, though, instead just looking at Castiel. “Man, I just…wanted to say I’m sorry if I offended you.” He looks uncomfortable, like he doesn’t really do this very often, and Castiel shifts his weight from one leg to the other, not sure what to say or do.

Fortunately Balthazar cuts in and says, “While this is touching, boys, I would like a cappuccino, please.”

Dean sighs and deflates visibly. “Of course.” He turns around and busies himself making the coffee.

Balthazar gives Castiel a significant look and hisses, “Say it’s okay! Are you really going to turn into one of those guys who holds a grudge over the stupidest things?”

Dean obviously hears this, because he glances over his shoulder and gives Cas a look that means, _What he said._

Castiel sighs. “It’s okay,” he says in Dean’s direction. “I really don’t care all that much. I would really…just like a coffee, and a friendly face. Who speaks English. And doesn’t laugh at my Italian.”

“Dude, your Italian is fine, you just got here!” Dean’s turned around now, fully facing them, arms crossed over his grey Henley (Jesus everloving Christ), leaning against the counter as the coffee machine whirs. “I wasn’t laughing at you, swear.”

Castiel feels like an even bigger idiot now for making a big deal out of this, and he feels color on his cheeks. He looks to Bal for help, but he only raises his eyebrows and gives Cas a shrug.

“I know,” Castiel says. “I apologize. I have been…extremely jet lagged and moody. The weather is not helping.” He glances out at the cool mist of the day.

“Yeah tell me about it, I hate this weather,” Dean says, turning back around to fill two cardboard cups with coffee. “It’ll get warmer though, promise. Always does.” He plucks up a Sharpie from the counter and puts it between his lips, then grabs the coffees and carries them over. Castiel thinks about how if _his_ lips were made for sin, then Dean’s probably committed the original one.

“Your name?” Dean asks, setting down the cups and taking the Sharpie in his hand, poising to write on Castiel’s.

“We’re right here,” Balthazar points out, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Castiel,” Castiel tells him.

Dean raises an eyebrow, squints, and says, “Like the angel?”

“Yes, like the angel,” Castiel says, making no apologies for his weird name.

Dean frowns, then shrugs, then writes it in big block letters on Castiel’s cup.

He doesn’t even bother to do the same for Balthazar, handing him the cup without personalizing it, and after they’ve paid and left, Castiel feels like he really is an angel, floating up in the clouds.


End file.
